


Lines of Communication

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Smallville
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, merging two universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:12:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4599351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of Smallville, Clark and Lois are living together in Metropolis. There is a Justice League, but no Batman. In Nolan-verse, Batman's off learning his trade.<br/>Yet, being Batman, he still manages to threaten Superman, for educational reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines of Communication

Superman landed on his balcony, rather proud of this handiwork. He’d just finished the addition to his apartment and he’d had to build it at a human normal speed. Besides the risk of being seen building it too quickly, there was only so much that could be done to speed up drying mortar. It jutted out into an alley without video surveillance, stared at a windowless brick wall and didn’t get enough sunlight to grow a houseplant. Anyone who saw it would wonder at it, especially if they saw it lead to the unfurnished, spare bedroom.

It was, however, exactly what it was supposed to be: a good place for Superman to land unobserved and Clark to emerge into the apartment he shared with Lois. He scanned the building before he landed, so he knew who was there and when he was alone. Tonight, Lois was working late, so Clark was alone. He didn’t change out of the super-suit, just threw a robe over it, because Lois was working late. Even if she was sitting in her office at the _Daily Planet_ and rewriting her last article, it didn’t mean Lois couldn’t get in trouble. It had happened before, several times. 

Clark was going to raid the fridge and listen to her type, maybe running out if anything else in the city needed his attention. His attention was caught by one detail out of place. His telescope wasn’t facing out the living room window anymore. A quick look showed the envelope tied to the tripod. Expecting a love letter, or what Lois considered romantic, such as two tickets to the monster truck rally, Clark opened it. 

He pulled out several sheets of paper, the handwriting as neat and precise as if it had been typed, but still handwritten. After reading the salutation, Clark took a good look around. No suspicious activity across the street, on the ground or in the apartments across from him. No electronic surveillance trained on his living room, not for miles. Nothing, except the letter, but that was enough to send chills up his spine. 

Clark Kent, aka The Blur, aka Superman.

Did Lois pick out that herself or is your ego that big? Are you super or superior? Are you a fraud? That last, I know the answer to. I came to Metropolis to find out, after your public defeat of that strange planetoid. I would have like a more thorough explanation of that, but my curiosity is less important than my mission. 

You, and the Justice League, are real after all. Your JL is also trying to make the world a safer, better place. Kudos to you, now grow a brain before it’s too late. 

It took me less than two weeks to find your real name, and the secret identities of all your JL pals. Keep in mind; some of that time was spent looking for a way a man could fly without obvious mechanical assistance. Fortunately for you, I’m a good guy. Or am I? 

If my intentions were to do harm, I could have planted surveillance equipment, bombs, drugs or any number of things in your apartment. I could have Lois, even now. For her sake, learn to protect yourself. 

The balcony is a good idea, hidden and far from anything a burglar might use to climb into your apartment. But what about alarms on the windows, particularly the one with the fire escape? Your biscuit-style satin nickel Master Lock looks nice, but it’ll pop open the first time you sneeze. I didn’t need a lock pick to open it; I used a bit of straw I found embed in your doormat. 

Having friends is wonderful, but watch them as security leaks. Oliver Queen signed up for that Vigilante Registration Act, so his identity as Green Arrow is compromised. People may forget, but the internet never will. A good reporter might ask why Queen is hanging out with his new wife’s high school crush. Perhaps they have more in common than Chloe; such as being vigilantes. Phone calls can be explained away, that you called to talk to Chloe and only Ollie’s phone was charged, but pictures can’t. 

Don’t be around these people in both costume and civilian identities, it’s asking for trouble. Nor has your whole JL been careful about how and when they enter the Watchtower. Do I need to provide a street address to prove I know where it is? Dinah and Bart enter a nondescript building, only for Black Canary and Impulse to exit that same building minutes later. You might as well just order pizza to the Watchtower and run tours. 

Lois floats in and out, when she’s not writing glowing stories about how wonderful and perfect her heroes are. I found you by following her, and none of you noticed. I hope you’ve at least realized what a bargaining chip she would be if someone like Toyman found out she was your fiancé? Let’s not forget she’s also friends with the whole JL, related to Chloe Sullivan-Queen and Queen’s ex-girlfriend. 

Lois as a hostage could bring down your whole League. 

Don’t try and convince yourself that nobody will notice, because I did. You don’t know who I am, or have any proof that my intentions are good. Consider that, as you decide if you should implement new security measures. What line would you cross, if Lois’s life was at stake? 

Being vigilantes, or heroes, or whatever the word of the week is, you work outside the law. This means you accept that some rules have to be broken for the good of all. There is one rule that you cannot bend, break, dance around or find a loophole for, and that is my rule. It separates us from the lawbreakers we fight, and it is sacred. 

No killing. 

Simple, succinct. If a villain is killed because you didn’t get there in time, train harder. Find a way to prevent that situation from ever reoccurring. If a civilian, an innocent, a criminal, a cop, a hero, if any human is killed by you or your powers, for whatever reason, I will stop you. 

I will not kill you, but I will find a way to stop you. I know your secrets, the ‘meteor rock’ that effects you so. I know the members of the JL, and their secrets. Maybe I will make a device that stops the ‘Canary Cry’ or a drug to make Impulse’s metabolism run at a human normal speed. Maybe I’ll just show the world your secret identities, making it impossible for you to run from your mistakes. I’ll never kill you, but I’ll stop you. 

If I ever kill in my mission, I hope you will be able to stop me. 

I have told A person what I intend to do. It may be crazy and I may never return, but you have no way of knowing. So, Clark, take better care of your secrets, and your loved ones. Remember my rule, even if you never know me. 

NO KILLING. 

Clark had listened to Lois type as he read over the letter, and now he let the sound reassure him that she was safe and alive. Scanning the paper, Clark found only his fingerprints. It was ordinary notebook paper, neatly removed along the perforation. No indentations from writing on the page while it was in the notebook. Cheap paper, cheap ink, disguised handwriting, nothing to trace.

The only possible clue was the uppercase letter A. I have told A person. Beside the top of the letter A was an indentation, as if the pen had been placed there, but not moved to pull ink out of it. The letter after it would have been something with a stick base, like an l, k, or t. L was the most likely letter to come after A, but too many first and last names started with Al to do much more than guess who the letter writer had talked to. If it was a name the letter writer had started to write, and changed it to the awkward ‘A person’ at the last minute. 

Frowning, Clark stuffed the letter back into the unmarked, cheap, untraceable envelope. He’d run some tests at the Fortress and let J’onn take a look, but he was sure it was a dead end. For now, Clark wanted to visually confirm Lois was safe, and look into some new locks for the front door. He had a feeling that only time would reveal the writer of this letter. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Bruce was a terrible patient, who refused to even admit to the cold that sent hot flashes and chills alternating through his body. Clark sat in the study’s visitor’s chair, book in hand, but watched as Bruce went about W.E. business on his computer. He wanted Bruce in bed, recovering, until Bruce was able to do the things they normally did in that large bed.

Bruce, being Bruce, had pitched a fit and finally got his way, a few work hours in the study. Clark would dispute the idea that he was watching Bruce like a mother hen, but only out of form. A tiny shiver went across Bruce’s frame, and Clark was up and wrapping him in a blanket. Bruce tried to bat Clark’s hands away, so Clark used the blanket to pin Bruce’s arms to his sides. Clark looked for the best way to pick his lover up and saw something on the desk that caught his attention. 

**I know Rupert Thorn paid you to spy on W.E. I suggest you come clean before I expose you.**

Cheap paper, cheap ink and a precise, block handwriting that could have been typed. Picking it up, Clark frowned at Bruce. 

“Who wrote this?” 

“Batman’s going to get a confession out of Tony Piccalo one way or other.” An answer, but to the question of why, which wasn’t Clark’s concern at this moment. 

“That’s not your handwriting.” 

“It is when I don’t want my handwriting to be recognized.” Bruce sounded reasonable and his hand snaked out of the blanket to take a sip of the hot tea Alfred had provided. 

“You wrote that letter!” 

Bruce waved a hand at his piles of paper and his computer. “You’ll have to be more specific, I write a lot of things.” 

Bruce set his hand down, casually, back on his keyboard as the other one came out of the blanket to join it. Clark saw it and reformed his Bruce blanket burrito. Bruce sighed, as Clark scoped him into his arms. 

“Do you have a fetish for carrying me, like I'm a weak-ankled heroine in a romance novel?” 

“You have wonderful ankles, very strong.” 

“But the rest of that statement is accurate?” 

“Maybe a little.” Clark said with a smirk, noticing that Bruce wasn’t fighting the hold. He was weaker than he wanted to admit, so Clark carried him upstairs at a human normal speed. He distracted a sick Bruce from his actions by asking about the mystery Clark wanted solved. “The letter I’m thinking of, was left dangling from my telescope, years ago, just after I’d moved in with Lois.” 

“Yeah, I wrote that.” 

“Nothing like writing threatening notes before leaving the country to pursue the training for your mission.” Knowing who wrote the letter, Clark could see the timeline falling into place. Bruce Wayne, kicked out of most of his schools, kicked out of Princeton, had dropped by to learn the identities of the Justice League, written a threatening note, and left the country. 

“Can you think of a better time to write threatening notes?” Bruce countered smartly. 

Clark thought that over as he opened the door to the master bedroom. “You’re right, that’s the best time. Scared me more than I care to admit.” 

“Good.” 

Clark thought about dumping Bruce on the bed for that, but set him down instead. Bruce got out of the blanket and to his feet, allowing Clark to flip down the covers. Bruce hesitated about sitting down, as if he was thinking about all the stuff he needed to do. 

“Your letter worked, Bruce.” 

Bruce looked at Clark, and Clark gave him a gentle shove so Bruce sat on the bed. Irritation flashed through Bruce’s eyes, but Clark ignored it as he stripped to his boxers. Sliding into the covers, Clark watched as Bruce followed his example. Moving over to make sure Bruce was covered by the blankets; Clark also draped himself comfortably around his lover. Bruce sighed, but allowed the snuggling; probably telling himself that Clark was warmer than any blanket. 

“Tell me more about my genius.” Bruce muttered to Clark’s chest. 

“A genius of the scary, that I can admit to. Your letter started me thinking like a criminal, as I tried to understand how they saw my loved ones as bargaining chips. I never planned on killing anyone, but there were a few times where that unknown threat was enough to pull me back from that impulse. Most importantly, it taught me how easily an unknown figure in the night could take my loved ones from me. When you get mad about how I watch you, eavesdrop from space or tell you to take better care of yourself, remember it’s all your fault.” 

When there was no response to that, Clark realized Bruce was asleep. With a sigh, Clark finished the conversation in a soft mutter. 

“It’s absolutely your fault. I challenge anybody to see the real you and not fall in love with you. Take that letter! Insults and commands in an effort to teach me. What really got me was the insulting ‘hope you can stop me’ bit. Took me years of associating with you to understand that was a plea for help, that the letter writer feared taking a wrong turn. But you never did, and you never will. Not because I’ll stop you, but because I love you.” 

Bruce moved a little in his sleep, snuggling deeper into Clark’s embrace. Clark smiled and hoped his dreams were as pleasant as this moment, before drifting off to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Had this sitting on a drive for a while, not sure if it was worth posting. Hope it was worth reading!


End file.
